The trailer smells like stale beer, tobacco, and body odor.
“Where you been, boy?”
I tense at my father’s words. If you can even call him that. Sperm donor is what he is. Fucking waste of a human. It makes me sick that this is the man my mother married. Was he always like this? Fuck, I can’t remember that far back, but when Mom was sick…I remember the way he put his hands on her and me. She was weak from all the chemo; she fought for a long time.
Fuck. I run my hand over my face. I don’t want to think of Mom like that.
“Out,” is all I give him. I don’t tell him shit. He doesn’t care where I’ve been as long as I bring money back to pay the rent and keep the power on.
He would notice if I died, of course, but only because the lights would go out, an eviction notice stuck to the front door.
I move toward my room at the back of the trailer, but he grabs my wrist as I pass, stopping me. I shake out of his grasp. “Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath. I’m not in the mood for his shit tonight.
“Rent’s due. Billy came looking for it earlier. I said he gotta wait till you get back.” He looks up at me like I give a shit.
“Get a job.” I roll my neck and it cracks, but he doesn’t blink. He just stares at me like the lazy fuck he is.
“I’ll fucking get it.” I storm down to my room. I’m the child here. Not him. Yet, everything is paid for by me. I keep the roof over our heads. I keep food in the kitchen. He never cleans or cooks. I open my door and just stare at what used to be my room.
Everything been tossed out of the drawers. I’m not neat, but my room never looks like this. “What the fuck?” I roar to the shit stain in the living room. I go to where I stash the money for rent, and it’s all gone.
“You fucking stole it.” I screams as I stomp to him, and he just smiles like this is the funniest shit on earth.
“Nah, I borrowed some. Since you weren’t back, I couldn’t ask ya, now could I?”
The end of his cigarette glows orange as he inhales the tobacco. My fists ball up, and I’m ready to smash his face in.
“What. Did. You. Do?” I grit out between my clenched jaw.
He lays his head back on the dirty rotten armchair. “In me veins, and it felt so good.” He scratches at his arm, and he leans forward, waving at me to come closer.
If I come any closer, I’m gonna smash his skull in.
“Don’t happen to have more cash on ya, kid? I know you do good work down at The Shed. I told my dealer about ya. He gave me some extra smack on loan, cause he knows how good ya are. Says he seen you fight.”
I take a deep breath and shake out my hand. Two more years. Just two more fucking years, and I’m out. I look at a faded photo of Mom and me hanging on the wall. The only one that hasn’t been ripped up by the old prick.
“You know that’s all I had, old man. We’ll be evicted.” The foster system will come get me. I’ll end up in some group home far from here, and that can’t happen. “And don’t talk about me to your dealers. I have nothing to do with you.”
No one loans a junkie smack without wanting something in return. And I can tell he has used my name to score more. Just another thing I have to fucking worry about.
I don’t tell him that I have more cash. I have it stored somewhere safe. Somewhere he can’t find. This isn’t the first time he’s shot rent money into his arm, and I know it won’t be the last.
“Fucking junkie,” I mutter under my breath as I walk away from him.
I look down at my phone to check the time. Saturday night is the best night at The Shed to make money. I march down to my room, flip my mattress up and back into its spot for later when I need to drop on it and sleep away the pain. I grab a towel and extra clothes and jam them in my bag before marching out, slamming the door behind me.
He doesn’t hit me anymore. Not since I got bigger, and I hit twice as hard back. But this…I let out a deep breath. That money was for rent, and he knew it. He doesn’t work. He never could keep a job, even when Mom was around.
I start up my Harley, the one thing that’s mine. I worked hard, broke bones, for this baby. I throw my leather cut on; it says “prospect.” But one day, it’s gonna say “The Sons of Death MC.” I’ve been prospecting with them for only a month. I met them through The Shed. They have a few guys down there that get in the ring and fight.
I see how they treat each other. Like family. They all have each other’s backs, and I respect that. I know, with Hunter off to some fancy college across the country, and Jace waiting for a great college to offer him a place on their team and scholarship, I will still be here. Alone. If I choose to stay, I will become a full member of the MC. I will have family here. One I chose.
I won’t hold Hunter and Jace back with them worrying about me. I want them to live their lives to the fullest. Take every opportunity that comes their way. I’m glad they have dreams, but I have this…a deadbeat dad. As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m out of there. Fuck, I don’t know if I will even stay here in Ridgecrest. I live on the edge of town. The side you don’t walk the streets at night if you’re smart enough. Full of crack heads and junkies. Like my dad.
I might leave Ridgecrest. Find a new place to call my own. Ronnie has been teaching me all the skills I need to tattoo, and he says I can work with him at the shop full time when I’m done with school. He wants to retire and live a little by finally traveling. He knows about the MC, and he understands why. He didn’t try talk me out of it. Not like Hunter or Jace would. They would worry and not want to leave if they knew my plans. That’s why I haven’t told them, and I don’t ever intend on telling them. Ronnie also knows I might not stick around. He’s cool with that. He’s a good guy, says he only wants the best for me.
Doesn’t take long to get to The Shed. It’s not a shed but an old warehouse. These fights are illegal, but the cops turn a blind eye with a little cash handout every night.
It’s packed as I walk in, men all sardined in and drunk on beer and the sight of blood. Taylor’s on door duty tonight.
“You fighting?” he asks, and I nod.
I need a decent fight, one that I can bring in at least six hundred. He shows me the roster.
“Fuck, Valentine’s in The Shed tonight,” a drunk guy calls out from the bar area. I’m greeted by some regulars as I look over to find the name I’m looking for.
Danny Holtz.
I beat him the last five time we fought, but the thing is, every time I fight him, I’ve taken weeks to recover. He’s a tough son of a bitch. But I can’t just do easy tonight. Rent’s due. It’s go in and go hard. Tonight.
I point to his name, and Taylor shakes his head.
“I love you, kid. You’re a tough son of a bitch. But Holtz? During football season?”
“I need the cash. Dad fucking spent the rent money,” I mutter. I don’t like talking about him, but Taylor knows about my dad. I’ve been coming here for years. I started out in the bar, helping Arthur, and when I built up enough muscle, I was allowed into the ring.
“How much you need?”
“Six hundred.”
He lets out a whistle. “Fucking prick. If I could take you in, kid, I would. No government gonna give me a kid, though.”
He lets out a sigh and looks back at the board. There are a few names on there, ready to claim a fight. Taylor looks down at his sheet of paper. Scribbled numbers and the names are almost illegible, but I see the “2k” next to Danny Holtz. I know the quickest way of fixing my money problem is by fighting Holtz. I don’t want to touch my savings.
“You can get your cash in an easier, less brutal way for your body. Don’t have to destroy yourself. You could do a few of the newer guys, make it up that way. I have two coming up in the next hour. New kids. A hundred each, if you win. That’s a good start to your rent problem.”
The thing is, after what Dad said about his dealer knowing I’m down here, I’m worried they’re gonna ask me for the cash he owes them. Drugs they loaned him. I don’t know what that shit’s about, but I also don’t wanna find out. I want to be able to cover his debt and get them far away from me.
“Holtz.”
Taylor throws his arms up. “Your funeral, kid.”
I move over to the bar. I’m gonna need a shot of whisky before this goes down. Helps numb the pain a little.
I approach the ring in the middle of the warehouse. Cheers go up when they see who’s up next. Money’s exchanging hands at a fast rate when they see me get into the ring. Holtz is on the other side. He has a trainer, someone to give a shit about him. I might be a prospect for The Sons of Death, but I have always worked alone.
The only times Jace or Hunter come here is when Arthur calls them, and I hope he hasn’t called them tonight. I don’t want to face them right now. One of them is gonna get Mila. One of them, meaning not me, and it’s hard to sit back and watch.
I know I can’t have her, fuck. When she said that shit last night about butterflies, I wished so hard for a different life. Any life outside of this shit so I could walk over to her and claim her. Kiss her again and tell everyone she’s mine. But I can’t do that. She deserves someone like Jace or Hunter. They will give her a good life.
I’m not even paying attention when I put my mouthguard in, and the ref is calling out if I’m ready.
Fuck, here we go.
Holtz bounces on his feet, zigzagging as he plays with me. Putting on a show is what he does best. His name might be Danny Holtz, but around here, he’s known as “the Destroyer” because that’s what he does. He doesn’t just fight. He destroys his opponents.
I just want this shit to be over with. As Holtz dances, getting the crowd riled up, I make my move. I move in with a blow to the cheek. His head whips back around; fucker didn’t see me until it’s too late. I move back, bouncing lightly on my feet, ready for his move.
He rushes me, going for the face. I block and swing at him again. I catch his chin, but I’m not quick enough, and he catches my nose. The taste of blood fills my mouth before I feel it run down my face.
The crowd screams and cheers. They’re out for blood tonight, and they’ll have it. Only I’ll be walking out of here two grand richer. And Holtz will be spread out on the mat.
I circle him, giving a good show as I throw out some feelers, see if he will bite. He does. I step to the right and let a powerful right hook send him reeling. I’m on him before he can think straight and smash his nose in. I hear the crack as it breaks under my fist. A few jabs to the ribs before he’s on me, a sweep of my legs, and he takes me down.
This isn’t your regular fighting. This shit is anything goes, as long as you only use your body. Holtz kicks my ribs, and my air whooshes out. I felt them crack. Fucker, they’d only just healed.
I try to breath in, but the pain is bad. Hell, he might have pierced my lung with that kick. I suck in what air I can, and I spin my legs around, taking him down before jumping up. The pain in my side causes white spots in my vision. But I take my chance while he’s down, slamming my fist into his face, over and over. The blood. There’s so much that I’m slipping in it.
“Stop, enough,” I hear someone say, but I’m not thinking straight. I need to win, I need this. I need it.
“Roman.”
My head snaps up at the sound of my name. Arthur is there. Fuck. He doesn’t get in the ring unless he needs to step in.
I look down at Holtz. He’s groaning, which is a good sign, but his face is unrecognizable.
Fuck, this is why I hate this shit. I hate who I’ve become. How could Mila ever want someone like me? If she saw this, she would be disgusted instead of getting butterflies. She wouldn’t look at me the same. No more braids and lunches together. This is why she needs to stay far away from me.
I’m broken, and she can’t fix me. No matter how hard she tries.
Arthur says he’ll keep my Harley here overnight, secure. And one of the new guys, Brady, is gonna give me a lift back home.
I’m not sure if I’ve broken my fingers or if it’s my knuckles. My hand doesn’t seem to grip too well, and it’s swollen as fuck from smashing Holtz’s face in. It’s lucky we have a bye week this Friday. The Rebels could win without me—Hunter is unbelievable right now—but I wouldn’t have gone this far if I had a game on Friday. I wouldn’t do that to the team and the guys.
I make my way through the crowd, who have long forgotten about me and are cheering on the next fighters of the night. There’re hundreds of bodies packed in here, and I just want to leave, my two grand in my pocket.
“Hey, Valentine, been meaning to catch up with you.”
I look over and find three thugs. “Your daddy tell you we were coming tonight?”
These aren’t just any regular smack dealers; these guys are from the Amato family. Fuck’s sake, Dad. What have you got me into? Since when does the mafia sell heroin to junkies like my dad? Or spend time down in The Shed?
“Yeah, he said if we want to collect his debt, we need to find you,” the older one says.
“How much does he owe?” I stand straighter. I’m taller then all these fuckers. But I can see the guns holstered, so no matter our sizes, they are gonna win any fight with a bullet.
“Five. But we have a better deal.”
Fuck’s sake, I don’t wanna give them five hundred. I’m dripping blood from my nose and hands. I just want to go home and sleep this shit off. But I don’t want their better deal. There’s no such thing as a better deal with these guys.
“Get it from him.” I spit blood down at his feet.
“Nah, he said we get it from you. So, we get it from you. Or we break your legs.”
The other snickers. “Bit hard chasing after a football with broken legs. End your football career.”
They know who I am. They’ve done their research. This is why I can’t have Mila. This right here is the reason I can’t open up and let her in. I can’t let anyone find a weakness. And Mila…she’s my weakness. I would do anything for her. I would give my life for her. I need to make sure I stay away from her so these assholes don’t see her and use her against me.
I hold five hundred dollar bills out to them, and the older one just stares at it. “Five grand.”
My heart drops. Five grand? How the fuck did he rack up that much debt?
“Don’t worry. We’ve seen you fight. We have a deal we wanna work out with you.”
I don’t like the sound of that. I’ll get them the five grand. I’ll fight more. It will take time, but I will get it for them. The three of them follow me out of the warehouse, and I tell Brady to wait for me near the entrance. They got a deal for me, and I don’t think they’re gonna let me leave until I hear it.
“You fight against Holtz again on Friday. But you lose. Make it look good. We know you’re unmatched against him, won all six fights. We bet hard for Holtz to win. We take our winnings, and you get to pay off dear old daddy’s debt.”
“I’ll get you the five grand, just give me a few weeks.”
“We won’t accept your cash. It’s a done deal. See you Friday at midnight.”
Fuck, fuck. Why can’t just one thing go in my favor?
